Page 60 - Lulu and Bob in Verbo City

Bob, pinching the toad’s tail between thumb and forefinger, ceased
masticating long enough to ask, “What does that spell out?”
“‘Elephants cannot state they remember’. That’s odd: the
pachydermatous memory is reputedly prodigious; the irony, I
suppose, is that they cannot prove it verbally. Well, Uncle must have
his little joke. Just one more line, Bob!”
He waved airily. “This letter ‘U’ is ‘you’; the calendar page for May
we’ve seen before, and the next one is—uh—the letter ‘A’ yoked to a
picture of something on the exterior of a building. It’s a cornice or a
ledge or a shelf or a mantel or what?”
“You already said it: ‘a ledge’. You know, the only way you can be
sure somebody is listening to you is to listen to yourself.” Prehension
provided her a great auk. She shook her head sadly at its demise,
historically in fact and imminently in cookiemorph. “Then a couple
of hirsute mammals: the familiar ewe and a new one; in fact a ‘gnu’
one—unless Uncle wishes us to use its other name, wildebeest.”
Bob picked up the narrative. “Okay, then it’s the word ‘it’, followed
by a pointed implement. Why do I get the tough ones? A reamer? A
drill? No, it’s an awl, meaning ‘all’. And since you are so busy stuffing
your face, I will finish the line: the word ‘the’ and a clock. ‘All the
clock’? No, must be ‘all the time’. Got that, Lulu? Now, what does
the whole thing say?”
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